


You Didn't Have To Do It

by shadowolfhunter



Series: The Heart Wants [2]
Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/pseuds/shadowolfhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim and Raylan are trapped in a bank robbery going south fast, Boyd's there and it seems as though he might be in a little trouble that he can't fix. With Raylan suffering from a head wound, and Boyd in danger of being killed by the bank robbers, it's up to Tim to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anything and Everything

**Author's Note:**

> As bizarre as this may sound, this came to me after watching Jurassic Park 1, 2 and 3, in a row.

“Have they gone?” Tim turned his head to squint at the door.

“Yeah.” Boyd shifted uncomfortably, for once not going into a torrent of extra explanation.

“Raylan?” Tim nudged his fellow marshal with his elbow and was rewarded with a grunt. Tim turned as far as he was able and squinted at his partner. “Raylan… turn your head and look at me.”

The response was so slow, Tim felt a moment of panic. Then he was looking into Raylan’s eyes, noting with some alarm that not only were his pupils blown, they were distinctly different sizes. _Great. Concussion._

“Raylan?”

“Huh…” the slow blink didn’t do anything to reassure Tim.

“If we have to move fast, can you?”

A look crossed Raylan’s face, there was a chink of a chain hitting a pipe. 

“The being attached to this pipe might be a bit of an insurmountable obstacle to that particular plan.” Boyd answered for Raylan.

If Raylan didn’t have a concussion, Tim might almost have been enjoying this. He drew his foot up to within reach of his fingers. “Have a little faith, Boyd.” 

“Oh I have faith, son…” Boyd stared at Tim’s contortions as he managed to bring his bootlaces up close to his straining fingers. “Wha’cha doin’?”

“I have a Raylan-proof kit.” Tim ignored the snort from his injured partner. “Partnered with Raylan, check, anything and everything can happen, check, plan accordingly, check, factor in his crazy friend from the hollers, check and check.” Tim grinned. “And here we are. Shanghaied. Handcuffed to a radiator in a tiny, freezing cold office, in a bank that’s being robbed. Only some crazy-ass idiot decided to kidnap Boyd Crowder, because only Boyd can blow the safe. I admit I didn’t see all this when I got up this morning, but the apocalypse? I’ve got that covered.”

Boyd actually scowled.

Raylan groaned, and Tim’s fingers renewed their attack on his bootlaces. “Oh and the radiator doesn’t work, so if we’re still here tonight we’re gonna freeze…. That’s if they don’t kill us first.” His bootlaces unknotted, Tim started to work his boot off carefully. The straining and twisting was making his wrists sore, but the pay off would be worth it. Finally his fingers managed to close around the small slim object. The temptation to snatch was almost too much, but he closed his fingers slowly around it and pulled it out.

Now he needed to concentrate, between the slowly wilting Raylan right next to him, and the tired and irritable Boyd eighteen inches to his left, there wasn’t much room for adjustments. Feeling the key hole with his finger, getting the key in the hole without dropping it, twisting it, feeling it click and suddenly the bracelet was loose on his wrist. Elated he reached for the cuffs securing Raylan. His partner wasn’t doing so well, Raylan flopped against his shoulder, and Tim had to push him upright to get the cuffs loose enough to undo. When Raylan was free, Tim eased him down onto the floor and turned his attentions to Boyd.

The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than five minutes, but time was definitely a-wastin’ and Tim wanted out of there. He wanted his guns back. He needed to get Raylan checked out. Beyond that he wasn’t about to think.

Focus. That was what made Tim such a good sniper. Focus, and details. A wilting partner, and his sometime, thus far unproven, criminal “friend” to deal with. Most days Tim didn’t know if they loved each other or they hated each other. Both emotions seemed to breed passionate hostility. Sometimes that passionate hostility bust out in unfortunate ways. They once broke a glass door in the office during one of their more spectacular disagreements.

Tim sighed inwardly, pulled off his jacket, rolled it up and put it gently under Raylan’s head. “Raylan, don’t go to sleep.” He gave him a careful push with his hand, and was rewarded with a grumpy mutter. “Wass…”

“He’s hurt, he needs medical attention.” Tim looked up at Boyd, “I need to get him and you out of here. Do you think you can manage not to commit any criminal acts between now and then.”

“Oh I am sure I can manage that Deputy Gutterson.” Intense hazel eyes blazed into his, but Tim wasn’t about to become a believer based on Boyd Crowder’s say so. But Boyd’s word had to be good enough right now, because Tim needed him.

“I need you to stay here with Raylan.” Tim’s breathing hitched just a little as he said it, “Please don’t hurt him.”

He wasn’t keen on the crafty look on Boyd Crowder’s face, but right then Raylan’s safety, and continuing good health, relied on what he could to get them out of this, and Boyd Crowder was the only thing he could use to protect Raylan. He knew he had betrayed his own feelings for Raylan, but that wasn’t something he needed to deal with right then and there.

Tim looked around at what they could use to block the door.

It was an internal room, with big heavy filing cabinets, a table and chair and nothing else. “Help me shift these.” Together he and Boyd shifted two cabinets in front of the door.

“If you don’ mind me sayin’ Deputy Gutterson, that’s the one and only door.” Boyd slipped into backwoods hillbilly at the drop of a hat, “how do you propose to save your, mine and Raylan’s asses from in here?”

Tim jerked a thumb at the grill over the vent, “through there.” He pulled the table over to the wall carefully avoiding his injured partner, and jumped up on it. A simple grill, four screws, and Tim was thankful that he had planned ahead. The screwdriver was small on the tiny little knife concealed in his other boot, but if he was careful, he could get the vent off pretty quick. He went to work.

“Do you even have a plan, Marshal?”

“Yeah. I get out of here, you stay here with Raylan, while I go and alert my boss to our situation here. While I’m out there, do you think you could stay in here and do that for me?”

The grill fell off in Tim’s hands, he checked the space, thanked someone that he kept himself trim, “you might want to use the table to shelter behind.” He said in a conversational sort of way. “Just in case.”

“I was fixin’ to do something stupid, but hey, hidin’ is jus’ fine.”

Tim examined the vent, it was dusty and he knew he was going to get filthy crawling through the tiny space. _Oh Ray-Ray, the things I do for you._


	2. And the plan is?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim escapes to get help, Boyd stays with Raylan and Raylan has a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Especially for Strider17 who asked so nicely!

The vent was small, and dusty, and Tim took a moment to be grateful that he was slim, fit and flexible, because crawling as quietly as possible through a dusty, dirty air vent was so not his idea of a good time.

He reached a junction and mentally orientated himself in the building. Thankfully it wasn’t a particularly big building, and the majority of the area was the customer floor, which he believed he was heading towards. He had a pen in his top pocket, and had drawn himself a little map on the inside of his wrist. Not that he had any intention of crawling back that way if it could be helped, but it was good to keep track of where he was, so he could focus on the problem. Bad guys in front, injured Raylan and un-injured sometime enemy Boyd Crowder behind him.

The damn vent had to have some kind of outside exit, because he needed a gun before he was going to confront any of the idiots involved in this robbery. He could hear footsteps below him, and froze. The last thing he needed to be doing was inching his way down creaking metal and giving his position away. The footsteps paused, Tim held his breath. If the guy looked up he was screwed.

That was one bad guy. Tim had seen four on the way in, but there may have been five. He carefully noted the position on his sketchy map and very cautiously moved on.

xxxxxxxx

“Stay awake, Raylan.” Boyd leaned over and gently shook the Marshal. For a moment he didn’t think there would be any response. Then one hazel eye opened slowly and glared at him.

Boyd smiled. “C’mon, open the other one.” He encouraged.

“If I open the other one, I see two of you.” Raylan rasped, “I have a headache, one Boyd Crowder is all I can handle righ’ now.” He sounded like shit, and Boyd could empathize with the pain. He kept his hand on Raylan’s shoulder, just a little comfort, nothing deep. Replaying the tender scene in his mind when Marshal Gutterson removed his jacket, folded it up and placed it very carefully under Marshal Givens’ head. Fingers that lingered a second too long for mere friendship against Marshal Givens’ forehead.

The one eye gave up glaring at him, and closed again. Boyd gently shook the shoulder again. “C’mon Raylan, you can’t go ta sleep.” He squeezed Raylan’s shoulder. “You have concussion.” He spoke loudly and slowly in Raylan’s ear.

Raylan grunted. “I know. I’m the one with the headache.” He grouched. “Is cold in here,” he hissed irritably.

It wasn’t all that warm, but it wasn’t that cold either. “Y’not going into shock, are ya?” Boyd shifted closer, staring down at Raylan with worry. Raylan made a grumpy noise that might have been anything but Boyd detected a note of pain in there. He pulled his jacket off without a second thought and covered Raylan with it. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Was very quiet and grumpy, and now Boyd was officially worried. Head injuries could be tricky. He tried very hard not to think of Donnie Feils, hit on the head in a freak mine accident, dropped down dead a week later of a brain bleed that no one knew existed.

xxxxxxxx

Tim crawled for what seemed like miles, from time to time he passed grills that he could have used to get out, but by his reckoning these exits, as tempting as they were, would only put him right amongst the gang without a weapon or much of an element of surprise.

He reached the vent that gave him a view of the bank’s front doors, noting that they seemed barricaded. Not a good start. There was a group of people sitting on the floor in front of the doors. If anyone breached through the front door the hostages were right in the line of fire. Crazy, not stupid, and pretty damn evil too, he could see at least two terrified children in the group.

He fought down the impulse to kick out the grill and storm the barricades, only the certainty that he would almost certainly die in a hail of gunfire, probably taking out most of the hostages with him and leaving Raylan injured and unable to defend himself, therefore ensuring Raylan’s death too. Whereby they would probably rightly tip his mortal remains out on the farm compost heap with the run-over farm cat and wash their hands of him. 

Then Raylan would haunt him for the rest of eternity. Did ghosts haunt each other?

And, shit… just maybe he was feeling a little light-headed from lack of having eaten anything in the last four or five hours, and his imagination was running riot.

Focus. Details. Exit Strategy. Save Raylan. _Oh god, save Raylan_. 

A thought occurred to him, as he slithered further down the vent. He paused for a moment, pulled the chain for his marshal’s badge out of his pocket, and hung the badge around his neck instead of on his waistband. Made sure it was easily visible. He did not want some trigger-happy lunatic from local SWAT to take him out.

He arrived at an outside wall. He could see the street, he turned around with great difficulty, brought his knees up to his chest, then lashed out with both feet. His boots drove into the grill which buckled, and fell with a tearing noise and a clatter. Holding his badge in front of him like a talisman to ward off vampires, Tim slid out of the vent and dropped the two feet or so to the ground.

Instinct made him fling himself to the side, the bullet that punched into the wall behind him clipping his left arm instead of going through his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this may wander off into some very crack-y territory....


	3. Gung Ho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim returns for his partner.

Once the uproar surrounding the accidental wounding of a US Marshal had died down a little, and Tim’s minor flesh wound, or hideous gash according to Rachel, had been cleaned up and dressed with a pressure bandage, Tim decided to fill the team in.

“I’m going back in. You need someone behind them to be able to take them without killing half the hostages and I need to get Raylan and Boyd out of there.”

“Tim, you’re wounded.” Tim really, REALLY hated it when Art was being really fatherly and reasonable. He wanted to shout at his boss, because Raylan was in there. Raylan was hurt and he didn’t trust Boyd Crowder one bloody inch.

“It’s a graze. Nothing.” Tim pulled his vest from the trunk of Raylan’s Town Car, pulled a back up Glock from the lockbox, “besides the Glock’s a Marshals’ gun but the Sig is my own. I like that gun. And the Beretta.” _Don’t mention Raylan, if you mention Raylan, you are going to give yourself away because your stomach is doing nervous jumping jacks, and you are going tell the whole office…_

“When you get that look, I know there’s no way I can stop you. Is there?” Art sighed, he did not like the take-‘em-from-two-sides plan, it had all the potential of an Irish firing squad. His people mixed up with SWAT, all gung ho and itchy trigger fingers, it did not have the aroma of success.

Despite Rachel being an obvious candidate to go crawling around in the vent with Tim, Art wasn’t going to let her go in there. Tim, well… Tim had a reason, tall, lanky, wearing a cowboy hat and dragging a whole mess of trouble everywhere he went. The only reason Art was letting Tim go, was that he was certain the boy would go anyway. Tim had been positively vibrating with the need to get back to Raylan and Art’s chances of stopping him, short of clapping him in prison shackles, were exactly nil.

xxxxxxxx

Raylan forced an eyelid open. He wasn’t a religious man, but since he had a sick headache and it was increasingly difficult to fight sleep, prayer seemed like it might be a good thing. He closed his eye again. _Please Tim, come get me._

A gentle hand laid on his neck, knuckles rubbed very carefully through the hair at his nape, it felt good.

“Raylan” Boyd’s voice. “Raylan, you need to stay awake now. C’mon.” The hand was still gentle, still stroking the back of his neck, still grounding him. Raylan made a huge effort and managed to open both eyes.

Big mistake. Huge…

There were two of Boyd, and each Boyd had a kind of fuzzy blurry second outline, so technically there were four of Boyd. And Raylan’s headache was skewering his brain like Nix’s ice-pick. There was something like a blinding flash and Raylan screwed his eyes closed, whimpering at the pain.

“Raylan… Raylan…” That gentle hand was actually stroking his hair now, and that felt good. 

“Fuckin’ hurts.” Raylan growled irritably.

Boyd knew Raylan didn’t swear much, so it probably really did hurt a lot. But Raylan sounded better, more together than he had half an hour ago, so Boyd would take that as comfort that Raylan Givens was not about to drop down dead on him. Which was good, because if Raylan did, Tim Gutterson would surely have Boyd’s hide mounted on his trophy wall.

xxxxxxxx

Tim was crawling back up the dirty vent, only this time with the added ache of a bullet wound in his arm. It was just a very minor flesh wound, but that didn’t make the ache any less painful, nor the heat radiating from the hole, and the blood held at bay by the pressure bandage… and Tim really had to stop thinking about the hole in his arm, or the bump on Raylan’s head, and the blood, or he wasn’t going to be a bit of damn good to Raylan.

He left his two SWAT shadows at the grill which lead to the main floor area, and slithered along to where he by-passed the goon in the back passage.

Only the gun thug wasn’t there. They were going to breach in two minutes, and the idiot wasn’t even where he was supposed to be, and Tim was going to have to drop into the corridor, without knowing where the idiot was and dammit, didn’t this always happen to Tim. Save the day without a rifle. Just the standard issue Glock. He wanted his Sig.

He eased into position, the guy was probably patrolling, or what passed for patrolling with ignorant thugs, so if he just waited a minute or two, the idiot would come back around and then they would be a go. Provided that SWAT didn’t jump the gun. Tim tested the grill with his foot carefully. It would give under a good kick.

BLAM! The shot echoed in the enclosed space. Tim swore, someone had gone early, he could hear pounding feet below, and there was his target. It was go for it, or miss the opportunity. Tim timed his entry.

The grill fell at his first kick, hitting the man below. Unfortunately, the guy didn’t go down at the same time, but spun around and pumped two shots through the vent. Tim drew down and fired twice. Then he was dropping into the corridor. In Ranger mode, the guy was bigger, but Tim’s shots had both found a home. Behind him were gunshots and screams, his quarry was down. Tim searched for weapons, swiftly cuffed him and headed at a purposeful trot to the tiny room. Get to Raylan, that was his only thought.

“Raylan… Boyd…” He thumped hard on the door. “It’s me.”

“Who’s me… don’t know any me.” Came the sarcastic reply.

“Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson,” Tim barked, “don’t make me come in there and hurt you.”

There was a clanging and banging as Boyd forced the filing cabinets away from the door. Tim was through it before the gap was more than six inches. On his knees beside his friend… colleague… _lover?_ Boyd thought it, but it seemed best not to say it. Raylan was injured, but Raylan had a temper and if he thought that Boyd was messing with him, the consequences to Boyd might just be unpleasant.

Raylan’s headache was just about under control, providing he didn’t have to open his eyes. Tim’s gentle hands on his head, and the soft encouragement of his voice told Raylan that he was going to have to do it. Cautiously he pried open an eyelid. Tim was a little less blurry than Boyd had been, however long ago, but the throbbing in his head told Raylan that the root cause of the problem had not gone away. As much as he hated giving in to injury, he was going to need some time out on this.

“Can you stand?” Tim’s anxiety at Raylan’s state was increasing, but he held himself together.

“Yes.” As long as someone was helping hold him up, Raylan figured that he would be able to put one foot in front of the other.

Keeping his eyes closed, Raylan stumbled awkwardly to his feet, and would have taken a faceplant, if Tim and Boyd hadn’t grabbed him. Tim yanked Raylan up close, and slung Raylan’s arm over his shoulder, putting his left arm around Raylan’s waist. Leaving free access to his gun. Boyd grabbed Raylan’s other side and they were headed towards the door.

“Going somewhere boys?”


	4. We Can Do This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite out of trouble yet.

Tim had his hands full with keeping Raylan upright, and Boyd had no weapon, so Wynn Duffy got the drop on them nice and easy.

 _Shit_. Tim tightened his grip on his partner. Now that they had him upright Raylan’s headache seemed to be taking over, and despite his lean build, Raylan was deceptively heavy. And damn, he was right and hated himself for it, there was a fifth man. Though this was a new one from Wynn Duffy and there was no way in hell that Tim was going to let Duffy harm Raylan.

“This doesn’t have to go like this, Mr Duffy.” Tim eased Raylan’s weight over onto Boyd’s side, and stepped between his injured colleague and the gun wavering in Raylan’s direction. “Why don’t you put the gun down, you don’t actually want to hurt anyone.”

Off the top of his aching head, Raylan could think of a dozen reasons why Wynn Duffy would want to kill him, although perhaps that should be twenty-four, because even squinting through one eye, Raylan could see two of him.

He screwed his eyes shut again, leaning heavily against Boyd. The way he figured it, he just couldn’t let Duffy shoot Tim. Not before… He tried to get a grip on that thought but it slipped away from him. _Didn’t matter. Protect Tim. Maybe protect Boyd too. Do something. What?… Anything._

He could hear something, close by, no idea what, but if he could keep Duffy’s attention on him maybe there was an opportunity for Tim to get Duffy’s gun. Raylan opened both eyes at once. The resulting pain that stabbed into the back of his skull caused him to groan in misery. Perhaps a little theatrical, but the pain was real enough. Raylan sagged heavily against Boyd, then just let go, praying that Boyd wouldn’t actually allow him to hit his head again.

Boyd suddenly found his arms full of an apparently collapsing and falling unconscious Raylan, desperately wrapped his arms tight around Raylan’s chest as he tried to lower Raylan to the floor slowly and protect his head. Discovering that Raylan, despite his lanky frame, weighed a good deal more than Boyd would have thought possible was something of a nasty sting in the tail as Boyd’s legs buckled under the strain and he landed on his ass with Raylan draped across his legs. Boyd only just managing to get his arm under Raylan’s head to prevent a second nasty bump.

The results didn’t have exactly the expected reaction that Raylan was counting on. “Raylan!” Tim spun round and fell to his knees beside Raylan’s supposedly comatose body. 

Wynn Duffy lunged forward.

There was a click, and a calm almost amused voice said “go on, make my day. Do something stupid.”

Wynn Duffy had an inclination to ill-temper and a hot streak of violence in his soul, but he wasn’t a fool. A quick glance told him Deputy Brooks had the dead-eyed look which he recognized spelled out his doom if he didn’t do exactly as she said. He lowered his weapon.

Tim gently patted Raylan’s cheek. “C’mon… talk to me.”

For a moment Raylan was almost inclined to continue to exaggerate his symptoms, but hearing the real note of worry in Tim’s voice changed his mind. He opened an eye.

“Hi.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed as the light dawned. “You…”

“Yeah.”

“That’s insane.” Raylan could see that under the calm layer Tim was seething, annoyance, and something that looked rather like hurt. Quite why Tim’s emotions were giving Raylan a feeling of well-being he didn’t particularly feel like exploring, especially as he could see Art in the doorway.

“Art.”

His Chief came further into the room. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for this.” He waved a finger in a circular motion.

The amusing moment now over, Raylan was discovering that he really did have a headache that wouldn’t quit, and while a night in hospital would really suck, he just wanted to go to sleep and wake up with this all mended. Too many emotions washing around in his head to think straight. His eye closed again and the last thing he felt was sagging bonelessly as someone lowered him to the floor and something soft was gently placed beneath his head.

Raylan smiled. It was all way too much trouble for him to figure out. He needed his sleep. Besides Tim was much better at good explanations than Raylan was.

xxxxxxxx

The anti-climax of the ending knocked Tim sideways. He could feel the tension draining away, but there was something deeply unfulfilling about the way things ended. Raylan was safe, Boyd was safe and now damn if Tim’s arm didn’t feel about to drop off. 

Art was looking at him strangely, and he was saying something that Tim didn’t quite catch, then there was a gurney, and hands helping him to lie down, and something registered in the back of his mind that this was a place he didn’t want to be. He tried to get up, but Art’s hand was on his shoulder and suddenly he was going nowhere.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was lying in a hospital bed, his arm neatly bandaged and resting in a sling; and when he turned his head, Raylan was sleeping in a bed three feet to his left.

Tim hated hospitals. He avoided them at all costs, and he could feel his tension levels rising. Focusing on his partner helped.

It was just something about Raylan. Tim tried to figure it out, he respected the guy’s skills, admired him in many ways, but Raylan’s relentless march on the route to possible self-destruction made Tim mad. Then he’d give you that look, and you couldn’t help loving the guy.

 _Loving the guy?_ It was late, his arm was sore, and as bad as the images in his head were, he needed sleep. And Raylan was there.

Rachel paused in the doorway. They were both going to be fine, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to check. She assumed they were both on the good drugs because there was no way you could have kept either of them there if they were awake.

She pulled up a chair, took the blanket that she had been given, and settled herself in between them. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
